A Fine Mess
by KatyMM
Summary: Dean and Sam have a rough couple of days. Hurt!Dean and Hurt!Sam. 4th and final chapter now added.  Hope you liked it.  M rating is for language.
1. Chapter 1

"How the hell did we get into this mess Dean?"

"Dean!"

Sam turned to look at his brother in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean was out cold and slumped against the side window. A hastily tied bandage was wrapped around his right thigh but the blood was already seeping through the material.

"Great! I'm the one with concussion and you're unconscious!" Sam fumed as he floored the accelerator, ignoring the speed limit. He too, was bleeding. In his case, from a gash on the side of his head where a bullet had grazed him. A fraction of an inch was all that had come between life and death and right now, with his head pounding mercilessly, he almost wished it had hit its target.

They had narrowly escaped a run-in with the FBI. Thank God Bobby had turned up when he had and distracted them long enough for Sam and Dean to get away. The whole thing had been a disaster and from now on they would have to be ultra careful about the jobs they took on. And _we're supposed to be the good guys_! he thought bitterly, shaking his head and then regretting it as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He slowed the car and pulled up at the side of the road. There was thick forest all around and it was pitch black. He opened the driver side door and promptly threw up, which served only to make the pain in his head even worse. He was on the verge of passing out but was fighting it, as they would be too vulnerable if they were both unconscious. They were in quite a bind. He didn't think he could drive any more, and even if Dean was conscious, he probably couldn't drive either with a bullet in his leg. Shining a flashlight into the densely packed trees he spotted a rough track, just wide enough for the Impala to pass along. He got back into the car and guided it carefully along the path, hoping to get far enough into the trees so as not to be visible from the road. Sam winced as thorns and branches scraped along the sides of the Impala. _I'll be hearing about this for the next month!_

Amazingly, the track led to a shack of some sort. _Huh, maybe things are looking up!_ He got out and shone the flashlight through a window, into a very basic room with a table and chairs, a single sofa and a cot bed, with a sink in the far corner. The abundance of cobwebs and thick dust pointed towards a place long ago abandoned. Perfect!

With pain pulsing in his head, he didn't think before opening the passenger side door. Dean half fell out of the car and was jolted out of his stupor. "What the hell?" Sam instinctively bent to lend a hand, but the sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness over him and he fell onto his hands and knees. Dean pulled himself back upright in the car seat, hissing at the pain in his leg. It was so dark he couldn't see anything, but he fumbled open the glove compartment and felt around for a flashlight. Flicking it on, he played it over Sam's back. Sam was vomiting onto the ground, his long hair completely covering his face. Reaching into the back seat, Dean found a half bottle of water and nudged Sam with it. "Here – and don't get any of that on my car".

Sam took a swig of the warm water and sluiced it around his mouth before spitting it out. "Man, you're just all heart!" He fell back to a seated position and took a moment to try to quell the dizziness and nausea.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm the one who's been shot here Sam!" Sam looked up at his brother, complete disdain on his face. "Dude, we've both been shot!"

"Yeah, but you're not the one with a bullet still in you! All you got is a graze!"

"What I've got is probably a concussion Dean, so quit playing King of the Hill already! I found this shack and I think we should just stay here tonight and I'll see about getting that bullet out. No one will see the car from the road, so we should be okay for a few hours."

Dean shone the flashlight at the run-down shack.

"Well it beats camping I guess, but only just. C'mon on then." With that he gingerly lifted his injured leg out of the car, followed by his good leg. Grabbing the top of the door he pulled himself upright, putting most of his weight on the good leg. It was still agony but he was at least standing.

Sam very carefully got up off the ground and made his way slowly to the trunk of the Impala. He really didn't feel very well at all. Opening it, he gathered their bags and the first aid kit, and after shutting the trunk, he turned towards the shack.

"Hey! I could use a hand here Sam!" Dean shone the flashlight straight into Sam's face, blinding him. "Quit that Dean! I'll be back in a minute. Just let me dump this stuff first". He turned back to the door. Amazingly, it wasn't locked, not that it would have taken much to get it open, but he really didn't feel like he had the energy just now. Once inside, he felt along the wall for a light switch but found none. _Okay, so no electricity_. Not a great start, but they would manage. Dropping the bags on the floor, he went over to the filthy sink and turned on one of the taps. There was a shuddering, gurgling noise and murky red-brown water spurted erratically from it. However, it eventually cleared. This was more promising!

He heard Dean calling but he had spotted some half used candles around and some matches and decided to get some light in the place. He lit them and placed them around the room, casting flickering shadows on the rough, wooden walls. Finally he went back outside, to find Dean on the ground, holding his injured leg and breathing heavily. Sam went over to him and put his arms under Dean's shoulders and prepared to heave him up.

"Put your weight on your good leg."

"No shit Sherlock!" Dean ground out between gritted teeth as Sam pulled him up. Turning, he put his arm across the back of Sam's shoulders and they hobbled together to the shack. Sam helped his brother over to the cot bed and gently lowered him down so he was sitting on it. Dean grunted with the effort and the pain. The bullet had been in his leg for several hours now and although the bleeding had more or less stopped, the pain was intense. The fact that the bullet had not passed through and out the other side, meant it had hit his thigh bone and lodged there. It would have to come out and there was no way they could go to a hospital. They both knew Sam would have to dig it out and that it was going to hurt – a lot.

Sam was weak and drained and felt like collapsing on the sofa and sleeping for a week. But first there was that bullet to get out of Dean's leg. He picked up the first aid kit and, opening it, he took out a roll of bandage, tape, scissors, surgical spirit and a pair of surgical tweezers. He put them all on the table and dragged it over to the side of the bed then pulled a chair over too. Sitting on the chair, he looked at Dean in the soft light from the candles. He looked flushed and sweaty.

"Okay, you wanna lose the jeans or do you want me to cut off the leg?" Dean was momentarily thrown. "Cut off my leg? Dude what are you talking about?" Then he realised and started awkwardly shrugging off the jeans – they were his second favourite pair and while a bullet hole was unfortunate, they would still be wearable. Finally they were off and he shivered a little in the night air. Remembering his hip flask, he retrieved it from the inside pocket of his jacket and, unscrewing the top, took a hefty slug of the whiskey. The familiar heat burnt its way down his throat and into his chest, warming him slightly. He didn't offer any to Sam.

"Okay, let's get this done Sammy boy."

Sam keeled over sideways off the chair, and landed in an ungainly heap on the floor.

"What the ..? Oh great, just fucking great!" After his initial irritation, Dean thought maybe he should try to get Sam off the floor and over to the sofa. And then of course he realised there was absolutely no way he could do it with his injured leg. He settled for wedging a lumpy pillow under Sam's head and throwing a mangy, moth-eaten blanket over him. With a strong pang of guilt, he fell back on the now pillowless bed and pulled the remaining ancient blanket over himself. Moments later he was asleep.

When morning came, only the slightest amount of sunlight filtered through the dense forest canopy, but it was enough to wake Dean. The first thing he was aware of was the pain in his leg. The second was the musty, dry smell of the shack – he hadn't noticed it the previous evening. Sitting up on his elbows he looked down at his still sleeping brother on the floor. Sam had clearly been tossing and turning in his sleep and had pushed aside the blanket and was now curled in an almost foetal position on the dusty floor. He looked very pale and vulnerable and Dean suddenly felt remorseful at the way he had been treating him since the ambush.

"Sam, you awake?" Getting no response, he sat up properly, and, throwing the blanket off of his legs, used both hands to help swing his right leg out and onto the floor, followed by his left. Leaning down, he tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder and heard him calling but had no wish to open his eyes. The pounding in his skull was no better and he felt weak and light-headed. Which, considering he had thrown up any food that had been in his stomach, wasn't entirely surprising. Then he remembered he was supposed to be extracting a bullet from his brother's leg. Groaning, he opened his eyes and found even the dappled daylight, blindingly bright. Clamping them shut again, he pushed himself up and then opened just one eye this time. He let it adjust before opening the other. Finally he dragged himself up onto the chair he had fallen off the previous night. Again, he felt dizzy and sat breathing deeply and swallowing, in a bid not to dry heave, since there was nothing left in his stomach anyway.

"Man, you look like shit!" Dean didn't really mean it to sound so harsh, but he was pretty shocked at Sam's appearance. His face had a kind of greenish tint and he was visibly shaking. Congealed blood matted his hair along the line of the gash at the side of his head, and the rest of his hair stuck out at odd angles.

"Is that any way to be talking to someone who is about to go digging in your leg with a sharp implement Dean?" Sam attempted a grin, but the result was more of a grimace.

Dean had made a decision.

"Sam, the state you're in, there's no way you're coming anywhere near me. I'm gonna do this myself."

"What? No Dean, it's okay, I can do it!" Sam was slumped in the chair and looked like he might fall off again at any moment.

"Sam, I know you can, but I think you need to get some more rest. How about you lie down on the bed for a while and when you wake up, we'll see, okay bud?"

"Okay then, that sounds fine.. mm, just rest for a bit…" Sam fell face-forward onto the bed beside him and Dean manhandled the rest of his gangly frame onto the bed, covering him with both the blankets. With his leg on fire and Sam out cold, he had to face the fact that he would have to get that bullet out of his own leg. Reaching for the hipflask he took a hefty slug of whiskey. He managed to shift himself onto the chair, and from there wondered if he could make it over to the sofa. Another slug of whiskey and he decided he could. Grabbing the stuff from the table, he threw it over onto the sofa, before lowering himself onto the floor and dragging himself the short distance across the room. He used his arms and good leg to lever himself up onto the sofa.

If anyone had been there to ask how he felt, Dean would have put on his "game face" and said he was fine to do this, but truthfully, he was shit scared. He opened the bottle of surgical spirit and poured some onto the wound, gasping as it stung and burned, but trying to stay quiet so as not to wake Sam, though he doubted that was possible right now. He took another swig from the flask and decided there was no time like the present and he might as well get it over with. Taking the long nosed surgical tweezers, he pushed them as carefully as he could, into the inflamed bullet hole in his thigh. For a split second he was startled by the guttural, animal noise he heard. Christ he had expected it to hurt but Jesus! He glanced over to the bed and was relieved to see that Sam was asleep and completely oblivious. The pain had made everything else stop. His whole world was focussed on the exquisite agony radiating from his thigh. The tweezers were in direct contact with the bullet. All he had to do was let the tips open and grab and pull.. and it was done.. he didn't hear the small, dull thud as the blood covered tweezers and bullet dropped to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was having a nightmare. A grinning face was peering down at him as he slept, just inches from his face. He could hear voices, whispering and sniggering. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make his arms or legs move. He heard screaming. Someone was in trouble. He had to do something… the screaming was echoing around his head and he had to…

Dean had a vice-like grip on the wrist of a terrified teenager - she was screaming.

"Boys, you better just stay right where you are."

Two boys stared at him, but stood stock still, as ordered.

The girl ran out of breath and stopped screaming but Dean kept a tight hold on her tiny wrist.

Despite having been deeply asleep, Dean had woken up the instant he picked up the noise of the door opening and whispering voices. He had kept his eyes shut until he knew one of them was leaning over him and then he had reacted. Now he was wide awake and alert, and injured though he was, (not to mention minus his jeans), Dean still felt fully in control of these youngsters. He guessed them to be somewhere around 15 or 16 years old.

"Okay, no one is going to get hurt. What are you doing here?"

One of them glared at him defiantly.

"Mister, this place belongs to my grandpa and you're trespassin'!" Dean stared straight back at the youth. Tall, skinny, spotty and apparently a Goth, judging by the black clothing and eyeliner. He had to suppress a laugh.

The girl was pulling away and trying to twist out of his grip but he held on easily. She was all of 5' 2" and very slightly built – no match for a hunter!

"Let me go, you bastard!" She kicked him in the shin, which did actually hurt and he let go of her wrist. _Why is it always the girls?_ He rubbed at his shin. Like his leg didn't hurt enough already! Okay, they now had the upper hand to some extent but he still didn't feel too worried. Until the one who had said nothing so far, stepped forward and brought a gun out from behind his back – Dean's gun!

_Shit!_ This now, officially, sucked!

Sam stirred in the bed and the boy with the gun swung around to look at him. Any other time Dean would have taken the opportunity to rush over and grapple the gun away from him, but today was the kid's lucky day, as Dean couldn't even walk, let alone run anywhere. He remained sitting on the sofa, wondering what to do. Clearly he couldn't hurt the kids, but the situation was extremely dangerous.

Sam finally woke up and, opening his eyes, was confronted with the blurry image of someone holding a gun in front of him. Instinctively, he tried to scramble backwards on the bed but there was nowhere to go.

"Stay still man, I swear I'll shoot!"

"Sam! Relax! We got ourselves a little situation here, but we can sort this out, can't we guys?" Dean looked at each of them with what he hoped was a neutral, unthreatening expression.

Sam was disorientated and panicky. The blood was pounding in his ears and his vision was blurred. Adrenaline was pumping through his body and his heart was pistoning in his chest.

"Sam! Listen to me! You have to calm down! Just please stay still and we will sort this out, okay? Can you hear me Sammy?" Dean's voice found its way through to him, and Sam started to breathe. Slowly, his vision started to clear and he could see properly. Not that it was a happy sight. Three people, one holding a gun… wait! They were just kids! What the hell was going on? The boy with the gun stepped back a couple of paces and told Sam to move over to the sofa. The other two moved back well out of reach as well. Sam swung both legs out and onto the floor, then pushed himself up so that he was standing. Everything went black and he wavered, putting a hand out to the chair back to steady himself until he could see again. Dean was about ready to try to get up to help his brother, but Sam managed to walk the few steps across the room, albeit very unsteadily. He sat down heavily beside Dean.

The Goth squared up to them. "We've got the gun, so why don't you tell us what you're doing here?"

"Your grandpa said we could stay here – we just came out to do a little huntin'"

"Oh yeah? What's my grandpa's name? And how'd you get to talkin' to a man that's been dead these past 3 years? You're a fucking liar!"

_Damn! Why didn't I let Sam do the talking?! _

The girl piped up then. "Let's just call the cops and get out of here - I bet they're on the run or somethin'"

The one with the gun finally spoke again. "No, we don't want to do that! The last thing we need is cops crawling all over this place. Hey, we could put them in the car and drive them somewhere and dump them! That's a nice ride…"

Dean clenched his fist but said nothing. The thought of these kids stealing his car was torturing him in a very special kind of way. He was already distraught that the kid had his father's .45 Colt - the ivory handled one he kept in his rucksack. He realised Sam was leaning against him, and had in fact passed out again.

"Dude, how can you be out of it again?" Nevertheless, he carefully turned and laid Sam out on the sofa behind him, his ridiculously long legs hanging well over the end.

Again, the boy with the gun spoke. "Looks like you been shot, but what's up with him?"

Dean didn't see the point of lying about it. "He's got concussion I think. Making him kinda sleepy. Listen kids, I know this looks bad but we're not criminals…"

"Damn straight it looks bad Mister! Who shot you?" The Goth asked.

"Well, the FBI but it was…"

"Whoa! The Feds are after you guys? You must have done some serious shit for them to be on your case!"

"Look, it's a case of mistaken identity, but they know that car and you won't get far if you try taking it anywhere. Seems to me that you're not too keen on spending time with the cops or the Feds either, so maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement?"

The boy with the gun looked sceptical. "Can't see what you could possibly do for me". Dean stared at him. There was something different about him. He seemed remarkably confident, compared to the excitable Goth and the plainly scared girl. Alarm bells were ringing in Dean's head and he felt sure he should be extra careful with this one, he just wasn't sure why. He really wished Sam would wake up. He also wished the throbbing pain in his thigh would stop. _And_ that he could put his jeans on…

"Peter, can we just get outta here? These guys make me nervous." The girl spoke to the boy with the gun. The Goth looked uncertainly at him too.

"Come on guys, we came out here to have some fun. I don't see why we should let these guys stop us – look at them! They are in no state to do anything! I say we tie them up outside and carry on!"

"Yeah, let's do that! Hey Mister, can you walk?"

Dean looked at the Goth. "No, I can't and if you are going to make us go outside, can I at least put my pants on?" He glanced over to the foot of the bed, where his rumpled, blood-stained jeans lay.

"Uh, I guess so – should I give them to him Peter?"

Peter picked up the jeans and threw them at Dean. "Sure, go ahead but don't try anything."

Turning to the Goth, he said "Steve, find something to tie them up with." "Jenny go through their bags and see if there's anything interesting in them."

With some difficulty and despite a fair bit of pain, Dean got his jeans on, and managed to wake up Sam in the process. As Sam groggily tried to sit up he noticed he was staring at Dean's back – which seemed odd. Then he remembered they were not alone and, peering from behind Dean, he spotted the young people holding two seasoned hunters at gunpoint. It just seemed impossible really. Just when he didn't think they could get into a worse mess, here they were, smack in the middle of one! It would be funny if it wasn't so serious.

"Whoa! Check this knife out guys!" Jenny had found Sam's knife in his bag, and was holding it up to show the boys. It was a pretty big knife anyway, but in her tiny hands, it looked huge and lethal.

"Well, well. Now that is some knife you guys got there. Looks like a hunting knife, but for some reason you two just don't strike me as the usual huntin', shootin', fishin' types. I'm starting to think there's more to you than meets the eye!" There was a glint in Peter's eye that neither Sam nor Dean liked one bit.

"Dean…"

"Yeah, I know Sammy – something's wrong here."

"I think I'll take a look at that muscle car of yours – wonder what's in the trunk?" Peter picked up the car keys and left the shack.

Sam erupted off the sofa and rushed at the girl, grabbing the knife and twisting it out of her hand before she even knew what had happened. She was so stunned, she just gave out a tiny yelp. Turning to the Goth, knife in hand, Sam quietly told him to move over to where Jenny was and for them both to sit on the bed. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you need to do as I say and to stay quiet – can you do that?" They both nodded and huddled together – terror on their faces.

"Sammy boy, that was verging on impressive considering all that sleeping you've been doing!"

"Shut up Dean – this isn't funny!" Sam glowered at his brother, before sneaking a look out of the window. He could see Peter had the trunk open and had already found the false bottom. He was examining a crossbow. "Great, he's in the trunk! Any ideas Dean or are you just going to sit there and laugh some more?"

"Hey dude! Lighten up!"

"He's coming back!" Sam stood just to the side of the door and waited…and waited. Only Peter didn't come back in. Instead they heard a mocking voice from outside, which didn't sound like Peter at all.

"Well I do believe we have a couple of hunters after all! And not just any hunters, but John Winchester's boys!"

"Shit! This cannot be good. Anytime this nightmare wants to stop and let me wake up, is fine with me." Dean looked at Sam as he spoke.

"You know, I have a strong feeling that if I were to walk through that door right now, someone might just be waiting to jump me! Now that's not very friendly is it?"

The knife shot out of Sam's grip and spun round. It hovered in the air, inches from his face. A second later, Dean was pushed back on the sofa and pinned by the now all-too-familiar, invisible force. Sam wasn't pinned, but didn't dare move with the knife so close. Peter walked into the room.

"Well isn't this nice and cosy? I think this is going to be even more fun than I thought!"

Peter smiled as his eyes turned black and he surveyed his captives.


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell's goin' on Peter? And what's up with your eyes man?"

"How amusing that you should mention hell, Steve. It's an interesting place, full of, _very_ interesting people… isn't that so boys?" He grinned at Dean and Sam.

Sam reached for the knife but wasn't quick enough. It sliced diagonally across his left wrist before flying across the room, straight into Peter's waiting hand.

It didn't really hurt, but blood spurted out and Sam clamped his right hand over it.

Peter sauntered over to Sam. "Sam, that looks nasty, we should get that seen to - cos, you know, you could bleed to death otherwise…" He grinned at Dean. "That would be just awful, wouldn't it Dean? No mom, no dad, no Sammy? Yep, you'll be all alone if Sammy bleeds to death."

"You bastard!"

"Dean!! Come on! Think about your language! What a terrible example you are setting these kids."

"Fuck you!"

Steve got up from the bed and ran toward the door. He got no more than three feet before he was yanked backwards and thrown against the wall. He fell, dazed, to the bed, knocking Jenny sideways. She regained her balance but was otherwise unmoved – no sound, no reaction. Her face was expressionless.

Peter smiled.

"That's a good girl Jenny. If only Steve would learn by your example." Steve began to gasp and clawed at his neck.

"Leave him alone you bastard!" Dean strained uselessly, a vein bulging at his temple. There was nothing he could do to stop Peter.

"Dean! Again with the language! What am I to do with you? I don't know who is worse, you or Steve here." Steve was close to unconsciousness and had stopped struggling against the invisible hands that were throttling him. Abruptly, he went limp and fell back on the bed.

"Hm, how about we let him run for it Dean? I could give him a head start and then go after him. Or, I could let Sam go and see how far he gets before he bleeds out. I know! You can choose! What do you say - Steve or Sam?"

Dean just glared at him but said nothing.

"Dean, you've gone very quiet! All you have to do is choose between this innocent young man and your baby brother – what'll it be?

Dean considered his options and realised there was no hope the boy would escape, even with a head start. Likewise Sam wouldn't get anywhere without first doing something about his heavily bleeding wrist. And Peter was hardly going to bandage it for him.

"Let me go instead."

"Dean! No! I'll go."

"You guys are just breaking my heart! So brave, so selfless. You know it's just that kind of behaviour that got your daddy trapped in hell. But don't worry guys, we are having a whole lot of fun with him!" Peter grinned.

"I'll kill you!" Dean spat out, glaring, red-faced, at the Demon. Sam started towards him but was instantly thrown back against the wall. Now he could no longer hold the wound on his wrist closed and the blood flowed freely down his raised arm, soaking into his shirt and down his side. Dean watched, horrified, as blood started to pool on the floor at Sam's feet.

"Now see what you've done? You really must watch that temper of yours Dean." Peter walked up to Dean and bent down so he was mere inches from his face. "Okay Dean, since you're so dead keen to be the hero, I'll let you go. And because I am such a sporting person, I'm gonna give you 10 minutes head start. Let's see if you really can walk on that leg of yours."

Dean was released from the sofa. He got up awkwardly and tried to take a step. As soon as he put weight on the injured leg, searing pain shot up and down his thigh and he nearly fell. But he had no choice, he had to get out of the shack – he had a plan – of sorts. Peter stood aside and motioned towards the door.

"Off you go then Dean. Ten minutes and then I'm coming after you. My, my, this is fun isn't it?"

Dean lurched towards the door, every step, sheer agony. Casting a rapid glance towards his brother, he limped outside. Only when he had the Impala between himself and the shack, did he reach into his jeans pocket and pull out his cell phone. He dialled 911 and called for an ambulance. For obvious reasons, he was able to give a pretty passable performance as someone gasping and in pain. He informed the Operator that he had cut himself badly and needed an ambulance. He gave his name as Sam Osborne and begged them to hurry as he was losing a lot of blood. He guessed he had about 8 minutes before Peter came after him and he just hoped the ambulance would get there quickly. Not that he was certain the demon would just leave, but he didn't have any other ideas. The main thing was to get Sam and the kids to safety.

Dean opened the trunk of the Impala and took out a shotgun. He didn't want to have to shoot the boy that the demon was possessing but he would, if it became necessary. He limped off to the edge of the clearing and hid behind a tree, desperately straining to hear the sound of an ambulance siren. After what seemed an eternity he noticed Peter at the entrance of the shack – looking around and still grinning. This could get really ugly very soon. Moments later the wail of a siren reached both of them. Peter looked in the direction of the sound – clearly realising it was coming their way. Soon they could hear the vehicle forcing its way along the track, snapping branches as it neared.

Looking back to the door of the shack, Dean noticed that Peter was no longer standing there, but a thick black plume of oily looking smoke was flowing out through the chimney stack. The demon had gone! _Finally! Maybe our luck is changing!_

He kept well hidden as the ambulance arrived and two paramedics got out and called into the shack. Getting no response, they cautiously entered – clearly used to receiving crank calls and careful about entering premises with potentially dangerous occupants. Inside they found a near catatonic young girl, a terrified boy, another unconscious boy, and, across the room, a young man, slumped in a pool of blood, deathly pale and barely conscious.

"Are you Sam?" One of them said, as he pressed a gauze wrapped pad to Sam's wrist.

"Yeah, I'm Sam – where's my brother?" The words were barely above a whisper and Sam's eyes were rolling up into their sockets.

"Don't worry, he's just here – he's fine, just a little scared." Sam was vaguely aware that there was something odd about that comment just before he passed out.

Dean watched as his brother was stretchered out and into the ambulance, along with the three kids, Jenny, clearly in shock and Steve and Peter, incoherent and babbling. Noting the name of the hospital on the side of the ambulance, he waited until they had gone before limping back to the shack.

He was starting to get used to the pain he decided, as he hobbled about collecting his and Sam's things, including his knife, still smeared with Sam's blood. He wiped it off and stuffed it into Sam's kitbag. He changed into a cleanish pair of jeans, grunting at the pain, and stuffed the old pair into his bag. Once he had everything, he dragged it all out to the car and dumped it in the back seat. The effort exhausted him though and he took a moment to catch his breath as he sat in behind the wheel. He couldn't immediately follow the ambulance back to the hospital. He would need to give them enough time to patch Sam up properly before going in and getting him. On the other hand, he didn't much feel like hanging around the deserted shack either. Of course! Food was what he needed. He hadn't eaten since yesterday and he was starving.

Turning the keys in the ignition, he pressed the accelerator pedal but immediately stopped as pain shot up his thigh. So much for getting used to it. "Come on Dean, you can do this". He pressed the accelerator again, more gently this time and again the pain shot up his leg, but he persevered, and the Impala moved slowly forward. He guided the car down the track and out onto the road. Heading off to Stokerton – the name of the hospital he had seen on the ambulance - he hoped they would have a drive-thru, as he didn't think walking would be much of an option when he got there.

Sam woke to bright lights as he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in a bed and as his vision focussed, he could see he was in a hospital.

"Well hello Sam – nice to see you awake."

Sam turned his head to see a smiling, middle-aged nurse looking at him with kindly eyes.

"I'll get Dr Williams to come and see you." She left the room and Sam held up his left arm. His wrist was fairly tightly bandaged. Then he realised he had a line in his right arm and a bag each of blood and what he presumed to be saline, were suspended on hooks next to his bed.

The door opened and a tall, slim, grey-haired doctor entered, picked up the chart hanging on the end of Sam's bed and then sat down next to him.

"Hi Sam. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay Doctor. Um, is my brother here?"

"Sam. You'd lost a lot of blood when you arrived here, and we are going to need to talk about that by the way. As for your brother, which one is it, Steve or Peter? Neither of them shares your surname and they both deny even knowing you. So we're a bit confused about that too."

The doctor put the chart back on the end of the bed and shoved his hands in his pockets. There was a friendly enough, but slightly quizzical look on his face.

Sam had been about to speak again, but clamped his mouth shut when he realised that Dean was not in the hospital.

"Sam, I have to ask, did you do this to yourself?"


	4. Chapter 4

"No!" Sam frowned as he spoke, but then wondered what he should tell the doctor. After all, he couldn't say one of the boys did it… although Peter's finger prints would be all over the handle of the knife.

The doctor sat down again. "Now Sam, the thing is, those two boys have been saying some pretty strange things – impossible things. Something bad happened in that shack and we are going to need to know what. The girl is in shock and hasn't spoken at all, yet there isn't a mark on her. Were you experimenting with drugs maybe?"

"I…. it was an accident!"

"It was? Can you tell me how it happened Sam?" The doctor plainly didn't believe him and Sam's brain was in overdrive trying to think of something plausible to tell him.

"Look, I was messing about with the knife – I found it there and was throwing it at the walls when the kids came in and…"

"But didn't you say one of those kids was your brother Sam?"

"No, they're not – I didn't - the paramedics just assumed I guess."

"Sam, you have asked about this brother of yours twice now. Why would you do that if he wasn't there?"

"Look, like you said, I lost a lot of blood. I was confused. My brother died... in a car crash, last year." This was so very nearly true, Sam was able to sound pretty convincing.

"I'm sorry about that Sam. That must have been very traumatic for you. You and your brother were pretty close?" Dr Williams sounded sincere enough, Sam thought.

"Yeah, we are – _were_ I mean." Sam felt his eyes beginning to fill up at the memory of Dean lying comatose in the hospital bed all those months ago. He had, very nearly, lost his brother that time and he really needed to see Dean right now - to know that he was okay. Clearly the demon had left Peter's body, but Sam had no idea what had happened after that. He brushed a stray tear away with his bandaged hand.

The doctor got up and turned to leave. "Well, you need to get some more rest. We can talk again later."

"Doctor, when can I get out of here?" Sam looked up at him anxiously.

"Sam, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but I am a psychiatric doctor. I was called in to evaluate you and the other young people you were brought in with, as you all seem to be suffering emotional trauma of some sort. You in particular, seem to be very traumatised, so we are going to transfer you to the psych ward for a few days for observation."

Sam was appalled. "What? No! Doctor I'm fine! I just need to get out of here!" He was sitting up in the bed now and Dr Williams was worried he would start pulling at his IV line, so he pushed the help button to call a nurse.

"Sam, you need to calm down. We can't just let you go without finding out what happened. We would be failing in our legal duty to you if we did that. Do you understand?" He had adopted the tone of someone talking to a bewildered child.

"No! Please doctor! I didn't do this to myself! I'm not suicidal!" Sam pleaded with the doctor but it was no use. When the nurse arrived, he asked her to give Sam a sedative and before he could do anything, she had injected something into his IV. Literally moments later his world turned fuzzy and then dark as he fell into a chemically induced sleep.

"Thanks Nell. We should get him moved over to the secure ward as soon as possible. I think he is pretty likely to bolt otherwise. Could you get that organised please?"

"Sure thing Dr Williams. He'll be out for a good couple of hours so we'll move him while he's asleep – that'll be less upsetting for him."

"Great. I'll get started on the paperwork to get him Sectioned."

Dean finished his second burger and the last of the fries and tossed the cartons over his shoulder onto the back seat. He drained his coffee cup and then that, too, joined the mess behind him.

"Okay little brother, time to stop ogling the nurses 'cos we gotta hit the road." Dean sniggered as he pulled out of the drive-thru parking lot and out onto the main road. "Yeah, right, Sammy ogling nurses – _not_ gonna happen!"

Less than 10 minutes later, he pulled up outside the hospital and parked as close to the entrance as he could. With some difficulty, he got out of the car and hoisted himself onto his feet. More agonising pain radiated from his wound and the distance to the hospital entrance seemed an awfully long way. He was seriously thinking about snaffling a pair of crutches while he was in there. He limped across to the entrance, thinking, at least someone with a limp wouldn't look out of place in a hospital! He was glad he had changed his jeans though. A limp plus an obvious bullet hole, would definitely arouse suspicion!

At the reception desk he put on his most winning smile for the pretty brunette behind the counter. As he expected, she beamed back at him. _Oh yeah, you still got it_, he chuckled to himself. Eyeing her name badge, he said "Excuse me, Erin, I am looking for a relative. His name is Sam Osborne. Could you tell me which ward he is in please?"

Still smiling broadly, Erin tapped out Sam's name on her keyboard. "Oh!" and her smile changed to a very slight frown. "You say you are a relative?"

Dean was marginally concerned now. "Yeah, I'm his cousin. Is there a problem?"

"Mr Osborne has just been moved to the Psychiatric ward for observation. It's a secure ward and visitors are not allowed except by prior arrangement."

"What the hell is he doing in a psych ward? He was brought in with a cut…" Realisation dawned on Dean. They thought Sam was a suicide risk! Shit! "Oh, sorry, about that Erin. Is there someone I can talk to - his doctor or something? I think there has been some sort of mistake."

Erin looked at Dean with genuine compassion; it was not the first time she had had to give this sort of information to concerned relatives.

"Mr…?"

"It's Osborne, same as Sam's – our dads were brothers."

"Mr Osborne, it says here your cousin is being sectioned temporarily for his own safety. His Doctor's name is Dr Williams. I'll page him to see if he is free to come and talk to you. If you'll just take a seat…"

"Listen Erin, Sam isn't suicidal. Can't I just see him? Just for a few minutes, so I know he is okay?"

"Dr Williams can talk to you about that Mr Osborne. Please, just take a seat and I'll call him for you." She picked up the 'phone and pressed a button. Dean realised he had no choice but to wait for the doctor. Then all he had to do was find out where Sam was, so he could just bust him out of there. They'd got out of trickier situations than this after all! He limped over to a plastic, padded chair and agonisingly lowered himself down onto it.

He'd been sitting there for something like 20 minutes and the waiting was just about killing him, specially knowing his brother was locked up somewhere in the building. Impatience was about to drive him back to the reception desk, when he spotted a tall, white-coated man approaching.

"Are you Dean Osborne? Sam's cousin?"

"Yeah, you're his doctor right?"

"Yes, I'm Dr Williams. Sam came in with a deep cut to his wrist and no clear story as to how it happened. Three young people were with him and all of them appear to be suffering from some kind of psychological trauma. Sam is being sectioned for his own safety. It's a temporary order so we can monitor him to see if he is likely to try to take his own life, or is a danger to others."

"Doc, this is some kind of mistake. Sam isn't suicidal. He doesn't need to be sectioned. If you'll just show me where he is, I'll take him home." Dean was struggling to get up from the chair.

Dr Williams noticed the difficulty Dean was having getting up and wondered what was wrong. But he concluded it was really none of his business.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible Mr Osborne. As you will be aware, Sam is dealing with the trauma of his brother's death last year – he said it was a car accident – but presumably you know all about it?" Dean's eyes widened but he said nothing.

"And that, together with what looks like a self-inflicted wound, is enough for us to be very concerned about his state of mind."

"You can't just keep him here against his will!"

"Actually, we can. Mr Osborne, I appreciate this may be a shock but this really is the best place for Sam right now."

Dean bit back the snarky comment he felt like making. "Can I at least see him Doc?"

"Well he's sedated at the moment, and in a secure ward, but I guess if you just want to settle your mind that he's okay, you can see him for a few minutes. We're up on the 4th floor." He turned and headed towards the bank of elevators and Dean followed, more slowly, behind him. The doctor slowed down as soon as he realised Dean couldn't keep up.

"That's quite a limp." He observed.

"Yeah, I pulled a muscle playing baseball the other day." The lie slipped easily off Dean's tongue and the doctor seemed satisfied with the answer.

On the 4th floor, the doctor guided Dean towards a ward door with a keypad lock – he punched in 4 digits but too fast for Dean to see what the code was. _Damn_!

He entered the room, which had just 4 beds in it, two of which were occupied. He spotted Sam straight away and swiftly took in the IV – that could be a problem. "How much longer does he need the IV in Doctor?"

"Actually we will be taking that out before he wakes up – his stats are all looking good. He's made a pretty good recovery in fact – _physically_ anyway."

That really pissed Dean off, but he kept silent. There was no point antagonising the doctor.

"When's he going to wake up?"

"Oh, probably within the next hour or so. Then I'll have another chat with him to see how he's feeling and make a decision about medication."

Again, Dean was inwardly seething at the thought of Sam being forcibly medicated when there was nothing wrong with him. He had to get him out of this before they turned him into some kind of drugged up zombie.

"I'm sorry about this doctor."

"Sorry about wha…." Doctor Williams fell to the ground, hitting his head rather hard on the floor and was knocked out cold. Dean rubbed his knuckles.

"Like I said, sorry Doc, but you are not pumping my brother full of drugs he doesn't need."

With great difficulty, Dean dragged the doctor out of sight of the small observation window in the door. Fortunately the occupant of the other bed didn't stir – clearly he was sedated too.

Going over to the side of Sam's bed, he very carefully withdrew the needle in Sam's arm. A bead of blood immediately formed on Sam's arm and he dabbed at it with a tissue from a box on the side table.

"Okay Sam, I need you to wake up." He shook Sam's shoulder – there was a low murmur from Sam but no sign of him opening his eyes.

"Come on Sammy, help me out here!" He shook Sam again, more firmly this time. More murmurs, but still no sign of Sam actually waking. Dean grabbed the tumbler of water from the table and threw the contents over Sam's head.

Sam woke, spluttering and confused and using the backs of his hands to wipe his eyes.

"Hey Sam – come on, we gotta get you dressed and outta here." Dean pulled the blankets off Sam and opened the door of the cabinet next to the side table. As he had hoped, Sam's clothes and belongings were all there. They hadn't got around to confiscating anything yet, thankfully. Grabbing the stuff, he threw it at the still dazed Sam, who just blinked and stared at him.

"Sam, you have to snap out of it and help me here." He went to pull the hospital tee shirt off his brother, but Sam batted him away.

"Dude! Get off me! I can do it myself." Sam looked long and hard at Dean. He wasn't absolutely sure Dean wasn't possessed. Dean immediately realised what was going through his brother's mind.

"Hey, it's me okay? I'm not possessed! If I was, I'd leave your sorry ass here to rot wouldn't I? Now get dressed. It won't be long before they start wondering where the Doc is." He nodded towards the corner and Sam saw Doctor Williams there on the floor. Finally he seemed to snap out of it and started getting dressed.

"Man, you don't know how glad I am to see you Dean! They thought I slashed my own wrist!"

"Yeah, I know, they are sectioning you right now! You're officially crazy Dude! I always knew it of course.." Dean smirked as he limped heavily to the door to check the corridor through the small window.

"Shut up! That's not even funny!" Sam scowled at Dean then started tying his shoelaces. He got up from the bed and swayed a little.

"You alright Sammy? There's a wheelchair just outside – want me to wheel you out?"

"Dean, if anyone needs a wheelchair around here, it's you!" Sam walked reasonably steadily to the door and peered through the glass. Apart from a nurse at the station half way up the corridor, it looked fairly clear. They would have to pass her on the way out though.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea for a crazy person Sam!" I am walking like a freakin' girl with this leg. It'll be much quicker if you wheel me out." "Go grab the Doc's coat and put it on."

Sam did as he was told and shrugged on the coat – the sleeves were way too short and it didn't quite reach his knees, but it would have to do. He was a little disappointed that Dr Williams didn't carry the trademark stethoscope…. it would have helped with the illusion… well, plus he quite fancied the idea of it really.

"Come on Sam, what's with the day dreaming? Let's get outta here!"

Dean opened the door and limped over to the wheelchair, painfully lowering himself down into it. Sam followed and did his best to look nonchalant as he pushed his "patient" past the nurses' station. The duty nurse didn't even look up and they both let out collectively held breaths as they approached the elevator doors. Sam pushed the call button and they waited for what seemed an eternity, before one of the elevator doors pinged and slid open. Two nurses were already in the elevator and made room for Sam and Dean. They both cast side-long glances at the handsome Doctor and his patient and smiled at each other. Dean grinned up at them but stopped when he remembered they shouldn't be attracting attention. Damn, how he loved a nurse in uniform! However, now he made a point of keeping his gaze pointing downward and studying his fingers in minute detail.

The elevator slowly made its way down, stopping at every floor. The nurses got off on the second – both glanced back at the boys as they walked away, giggling. Then finally they were on the ground floor and no alarms had gone off. They were within sight of the hospital entrance but now had to get past the reception desk without Erin spotting them. She wouldn't know Sam, but she most certainly would recognise Dean!

Sam looked around to see if there was some other way of getting out, but everything was secured so that patients and visitors had no choice but to use the front entrance. There was nothing to do but walk straight past Erin and hope she would be distracted and not notice Dean in the wheelchair. Sam pushed the wheelchair forward and Dean tucked his head into his chest and away from the reception as they passed it. And that was it! The entrance door swished open and they were out! Sam virtually ran the short distance to the Impala and they both grinned like idiots as they opened the doors and got in, abandoning the wheelchair. Sam took the driver side and Dean, for once, didn't complain. As Sam pulled out of the parking bay, Dean rummaged in the glove compartment.

"Dean, this has to have been the crappiest couple of days I've had for a long, long time. How could we have that much bad luck?"

"I don't know Sammy, but I have just the thing to make you feel better!" Dean pushed a cassette tape into the tape deck and pressed play.

Stone Cold Crazy by Metallica blasted out of the speakers and Dean doubled up laughing.

Sam turned a murderous look on his brother. "Dude, that is _so_ not funny!"


End file.
